mile high club
Quinn
Smoke filled the basement, the scent of marijuana intoxicating the atmosphere. Quinn lies on the couch, a joint in her hand, while Ellie lay on the couch next to her, a joint also lazily held between her fingers.
“I’m glad I decided to trust you,” Quinn says, taking a drag from the joint and blowing it into the air. They had a small window cracked open, knowing damn well it did little to nothing to ventilate the room.
“See?” Ellie says, propping her head up with her arm to look at Quinn. She grins. “You can always trust me.”
They lay in silence, Quinn feeling soft and light and staring up at the ceiling, thinking about nothing in particular. She slowly rakes her gaze over to Ellie, who was closing her eyes, looking content. Quinn admires her face, how angular it is usually set during the day compared to now, where it looks soft, vulnerable. She traces Ellie’s face with her eyes, noting the slope of her nose and eyebrows, the scar on her right eyebrow a puzzle that Quinn’s always wondered about. She looks at the freckles across Ellie’s nose, her lips, the way her hair was messily pulled into a half bun, then the tattoo that was now fully exposed after Ellie shed her jacket.
Ellie’s eyes open, and Quinn realizes too late that she hasn’t looked away, and Ellie’s eyebrows furrow, a slight smile on her face.
“What are you doing?” she asks, bringing the joint up to her lips. Admiring.
“What happened to your eyebrow?” Quinn asks, interrupting her thoughts.
Ellie raised the accused eyebrow, before staring up at the ceiling, not meeting Quinn’s gaze. Shit.
“It happened a long time ago,” Ellie says quietly. “I was with my best friend, Riley.”
Ellie’s talked about Riley before, and the fondness with which Ellie talked about her squeezed Quinn’s heart. The ache was all too familiar to Quinn, and she had a strange urge to comfort Ellie. Ellie didn’t seem to want to continue with the story, so Quinn dropped it, even though the curiosity was clawing at her throat. She knew better than to pry. Ellie’s never overstepped with Quinn, and it’s only right that Quinn reciprocates that respect.
The chilled air seemed to blow directly onto Quinn. Gritting her teeth, she took another hit and then stood up, vaguely feeling dizzy, before marching around the room, not quite remembering what she is looking for. She looks at the couch where she was laying before, trying to remember why she got up…
A shiver came over her body. Ah. That’s right.
“What are you doing?” Ellie mumbles.
“Blanket,” Quinn says. She shivers, her thin t-shirt doing nothing to keep her warm. Although she could grab her jacket, she prefers to be wrapped up in something warm and fuzzy. Quinn aimlessly wanders around before not finding anything of use, making her way back to the couch. She looks up and realizes she sat next to Ellie’s outstretched legs.
Then Quinn had a terrible, wonderful, deliciously stupid idea.
She leaned to her left, lying against the crook of Ellie’s left arm and shoulder. Ellie’s right arm was across the top of the couch, holding the joint.
“What are you doing, Quinn?” Ellie laughed, and for a brief second, she thought she’d push Quinn off. But she merely adjusted, making a little more room for Quinn. Quinn took another hit, deciding to be finished, and put out the joint on the ashtray conveniently placed on the table next to them.
“Warm,” was all Quinn mumbled before turning so she was lying on her right side, completely facing Ellie. Too embarrassed to see what Ellie’s face looked like, she kept her eyes closed, already drifting off into a peaceful sleep.
— — — —
Quinn woke to an incessant tapping on her cheek. She furrowed her eyebrows and blinked open her eyes, seeing a chest first, then dragging her eyes up to the head that was connected to the chest. She tried to retain her surprise at Ellie’s face that was looking back at her.
“Wake up. I’m sure Joel’s freaking out,” Ellie whispers. Quinn didn’t know why she was whispering. She wasn’t even fully sure this wasn’t a dream. Ellie laughs. Did I say that out loud?
“C’mon. You’re such a lightweight,” Ellie teases and playfully pushes Quinn off the couch. Quinn yelps, trying to catch herself, but falls with an ungraceful thud. Ellie bursts out laughing, much to Quinn’s utter embarrassment, and she grumbles and stands up. Ellie continues laughing, and Quinn scowls, unable to hide the smile creeping across her face.
They eventually made their way upstairs, the sky already dark. Quinn’s nerves slightly spiked, but she closed her hand around the small pistol in her jacket pocket. You think after years of surviving by herself, the fear of the dark would disappear.
Quinn steps onto the porch of the house, waiting for Ellie and petting Shimmer, whispering sweet nothings to the horse. Shimmer neighed in response, making Quinn giggle.
Ellie emerges through the door, shutting it behind her, and mounts the horse, Quinn right behind her. Although she still felt slightly high, she felt better in the fresh air and took a deep inhale. It smelled of dirt and ice, cold and refreshing.
“So I see where you get your weed from,” Quinn says as Shimmer starts trotting back to Jackson. Ellie laughs.
“Yeah, add stealing weed from a dead guy to my long record,” she says, pausing. “This guy’s honestly so smart. If Joel didn’t have such a stick up his ass, I’d totally convince him to grow a weed farm.”
Quinn laughs, returning to the position she was in earlier with her arms around Ellie’s waist. She felt very comfortable, the anxiety of the night falling off of her in ripples.
“Am I being too much if I ask how you and Joel are doing?” Quinn asks, and she feels Ellie bristle. Quinn pops her head up, immediately opening her mouth to retract her statement. “I mean, only if you want to–”
Ellie chuckles softly. To be fair, it wasn’t the most secretive thing in the world that Joel and Ellie didn’t get along; at least, currently. In fact, Quinn knows nearly everything about their rocky relationship because neither of them can shut their mouth long enough in a fight before everything is spilled into the open. Quinn–and probably half of Jackson–has experienced one of their blowouts firsthand, accusations flying and southern accent sharpened. It wasn’t a pretty sight. Entertaining, for sure, but not pretty.
Ellie sighs, and Quinn thought that she simply wasn’t going to answer.
“I’ve really been trying,” Ellie starts, her voice growing softer, “to forgive him. Because…I do love him. But like, everything he’s ever done ‘for me’ has just been a selfish act and ‘for him.’ Because all I mean to him is just a replacement for his dead daughter.” The last sentence was meant to be laced with venom but it just came out broken. Quinn reached out and put a hand on Ellie’s arm.
“Ellie…”
Ellie shrugs off Quinn’s hand. Quinn purses her lips, feeling slightly dejected, but there wasn’t much she can do except listen. Ellie didn’t want Quinn’s advice or anyone’s advice. She just wanted to be listened to.
“And I just keep thinking about how he lied to me for so many years. Trying to keep his and my survivor’s guilt under wraps because he thinks that keeping me with him will fix everything. Lying to keep me with him. Because he knew if he told me the truth straight up, I’d run far away and never see him again.”
Quinn holds in a breath before asking a question she was afraid of the answer to.
“So why are you staying now?” Quinn’s voice was barely above a whisper, and she was afraid Ellie didn’t even hear her. Ellie’s shoulders slightly relax, and she glances over her shoulder at Quinn.
“I guess there are some people that are worth staying here for.”